


à la mémoire des pères (et frères)

by Flamingbluepanda



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Child Death, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), The Girls are there too, discussions of child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamingbluepanda/pseuds/Flamingbluepanda
Summary: “That little boy is my last living direct descendant.”Booker stared. Direct descendant meant blood link, which meant-“You,” Booker’s throat flexed convulsively, “you had kids?”
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 498





	à la mémoire des pères (et frères)

**Author's Note:**

> This is... barely cohereant I wrote this in a frenzy because Ive wanted this fic for a while?? But Im exhausted and my computer is about to die so take it
> 
> Dedicated to Booker. ily bby i promise I'll be kind to you in the future

One month after Booker’s exile began, he was startled out of a drunken sleep by loud knocking on his door and the blessed voice of Yusuf Al-Kaysani (Di Genova ibn ibrahim ibn muhammid etcetera etcetera) shouting “Sebastien! Open the fucking door or I’ll break it!”

Booker groaned as he dragged himself over and opened it. Joe gave him a tight smile then said “wow, you look like shit.” 

“What are you doing here?” Booker asked tiredly, and then straighten, suddenly very sober “is-“

“Andy’s fine, we’re all fine.” Joe waved a hand, the grabbed Booker’s arm. “I have something to show you, come on.”

“Wait-  _ now?!” _

“Yeah! Come on, grab your coat.”

Booker allowed himself to be dragged out of his apartment, still completely stumped.

They got as far as the corner before Booker yanked his arm out of Joe’s grasp, locking his knees so that Joe couldn’t drag him. 

“Okay, seriously. What’s going on? Where's Nicky.”

Fury flared in Joe’s eyes, and he took a deep breath, clearly working to quell it. “We aren’t actually attached at the hip, you know.”

Guilt seized booker’s heart “I never meant-“

“You did. You did then and you do now. C’mon, I just want to show you something and then you can go back to being drunk and sad.” 

Helpless, Booker let himself be dragged to a bench outside a park, where Joe sat.

“Sit with me,” Joe said, and it wasn’t an order but Booker put his butt on the seat like it was.

They sat in tense silence, watching people go by. Booker swallowed and cleared his throat. “I-“

“No talking.” Joe said, and Booker threw his hands up. “If you don’t want an apology and nothing is wrong then why-“

“I have something to show you!” Joe insisted, “just- just shut up and watch, okay? This isn’t easy for me either.”

_ Then why are you torturing us both!  _ Booker wanted to scream. Joe sighed, almost deflating a little.

“Look I don’t-“ Joe shook his head, still not looking at Booker. “If it wasn’t for coincidence I wouldn’t be here. I just- Nicky thought it might help, and I agree. So. I hope this-“

He froze- actually stopped mid word. His spine went tense, and he leaned forward. Across the street, a bus stopped, and then moved. A woman in a hijab walked with her son. He had curly hair, and was excitedly skipping along, hand in hand with his mother.

“Look at them,” Joe said softly, “they look so happy.”

Booker frowned. “Do you know them? Should I know them? Are they in danger?”

“God I hope not,” Joe shook his head, closing his eyes and almost curling in on himself. Booker looked at him for a long moment- he was wearing black, and he looked exhausted. He clutched a bag in his lap.

“The woman is named Najid.” Joe said softly, “her son is named Yusuf, ironically. Her husband died a few years ago. Yusuf is their only son.”

Booker opened his mouth, about to ask why Joe had gone stalker on this random woman when a sad smile entered Joe’s face. The boy and his mother rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Joe’s next words came out in a broken whisper. 

“That little boy is my last living direct descendant.” 

Booker stared. Direct descendant meant blood link, which meant-

“You,” Booker’s throat flexed convulsively, “you had kids?”

Joe leaned back on the bench, eyes distant. He sighed.

“My parents married me off when I was 19,” Joe explained, “my brother was taking the family business, and I was going to help, but one of us needed to get married and my sisters weren’t old enough. I don’t know if it was because they knew I’m gay, I hope it wasn’t.”

Silently, he opened the bag and carefully pulled out a clear plastic folder. Inside was a piece of paper so old that it looked like it might disintegrate if touched. The pencil strokes were faint, but Booker could make out a man who was clearly supposed to be joe, along with a woman with a round belly and two small figures.

“Her name was Aylya,” Joe said, still looking about a million miles away. “We weren’t in love, but we were happy. My son,” 

Joe’s fingers traced the taller of the two children. “His name was Alekan. And my daughter, Saffiya-“

Joe laughed, but it was a sad, broken thing. “My sister was so excited that they shared a name. Saffi was a hard birth, she was so  _ tiny-“ _

Joe’s eyes closed, and Booker would’ve reached out to comfort him had shock not frozen him in place. 

“When they handed her to me, I thought I would break her.” Joe whispered, and then swiped furiously at his eyes. “Alek believed in her before we did. He was convinced she’d be fine and he was right.”

He let out another one of those bitter, broken laughs. 

“He was so smart. So- so much like his father-“ Joe sobbed “too much like his father, too rambunctious. He- he fell out a window, one day. I know now that he broke his neck, that he could’ve been cared for-“

Booker wanted to scream, to beg Joe to stop, but he kept talking, “but back then, they… we didn’t know the things we know now. My son, my little boy- he was barely nine. He was- he was so small and he wouldn’t move…”

Joe’s hands clenched on the empty bag in his lap, and his whole body was trembling, and he  _ still wouldn’t look at Booker- _

“He died,” Joe choked out, “he died and my wife lost our third child. One right after the other. I almost lost her too.” 

Joe inhaled shakily, pinching the bridge of his nose and wiping his cheeks on his sleeve.

“Today would’ve been Alek’s birthday,” Joe sniffed, “I don’t even remember  _ my  _ birthday most years, but I can say easily that saffiya was born on January 7th and Alek was born today, September 24th. I go to see whoever’s left on their birthdays, ‘s how I know that little Yusuf’s father died in a car crash and now that tiny boy is the last member of my blood line, the last person alive except me who has even a tiny bit of my daughter in him.”

“Your daughter lived,” Booker finally said, voice wrecked, and Joe laughed. “Oh yes, had 14 children and a husband who loved her. Nicky convinced me to look her up after I told him about her- eighty years after our first deaths? She died just before I tracked her down. She lived a long life, got to hold her great great grandchildren.” 

“She was like her father too,” Booker said, and then froze, terrified he’d crossed the line.

Joe  _ finally  _ looked at him, but it was exhausted and painful. 

“She was,” Joe agreed. “Just like your children were like you- stubborn, and foolish, and unable to reach out for help when needed.”

Booker swiped at his own tears, and Joe gently plucked the folder from his hands. 

“I’m not telling you this to punish you,” Joe said softly. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. Andy doesn’t even know about them, and neither does Nile yet, but they were in Paris, and-”

“Nicky thought this would help.” Booker was trembling,  _ how could he be so cruel- _

“I needed to prove to you,” Joe whispered, “I needed to prove to you that I got it. That you could’ve come to me-“

Joe looked at Booker, gaze full of sorrow. “Why didn’t you come to me, Book? You’re my brother. I love you. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Booker had no answer. He didn’t want to answer. He  _ didn’t want to do this yet- _

And before he could think, he was on his feet. 

He ran away before Joe could see him cry. He got piss drunk before he could feel guilty about it.

* * *

Joe hated Paris. 

It was too busy, too loud, and too touristy. It had old bones, but everything was shiny and cleaned and painted new to make it more attractive to the modern guest. 

Joe dragged himself back to the tiny hotel he and Nicky were staying at, going inside and setting the bag with the portrait down before flopping on the bed and letting himself scream into a pillow.

“Careful my love,” Nicky said as he came out of the shower. “People will think I’m murdering you.”

Usually, Joe would laugh at that, but today he just broke down into heaving sobs. Nicky sighed and sat on the bed next to him, touching Joe’s shoulder.

“Oh my heart, I can’t imagine your pain.” Nicky sighed, stroking Joe’s hair. “I’m sorry, I never should’ve-“

“No,” Joe picked up his head, wiping away snot and tears. “No, it was good to tell it. The more people who know the better I can keep their memories alive.”

“Still,” Nicky wiped Joe’s tears with his thumbs. “I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

“I had to think to remember Aylya’s name today,” Joe whispered, horrified, “I’m starting to forget them. I’m starting to forget my  _ babies,  _ Nicolo.”

“Then we will redraw the portrait,” Nicky kissed his forehead, “we will have them painted. Carved from  _ marble,  _ if you so wish. I will  _ personally  _ transcribe the story into as many languages as you please so that you can have them forever. I won’t let you forget them, Yusuf.”

“Thank you,” Joe sobbed, pressing his face into Nicky’s chest.  _ “Thank you.” _

Nicky let him cry for a while longer, and then after Joe had calmed down a little he kissed the top of his head. “How is he?”

Joe sighed- these emotions he was at least able to deal with. 

“Tired,” Joe said, picking up his head again. “And drunk. And overwhelmed. I think telling him was a mistake-“

“Booker needs to see us as people, not a couple.” Nicky snapped, and Joe recognizes the cold fury in his tone. “If this is how that happens-“

“I just,” Joe looked down at the bed, “I hate using them like this. I feel like I hurt him more than I helped.”

“I won’t let him keep thinking he’s the only one hurting.” Nicky shook his head, “I can’t. I can’t live the next hundred years or however long it takes us to forgive him thinking he doesn’t know.”

Joe kissed his cheek, curling up next to Nicky. “Well he definitely knows now. I… I hope he doesn’t hate me for not telling him.”

“He was a father too,” Nicky said softly, “and we both know he would have done anything to protect his kids.” 

“I wish you could’ve met my children,” Joe sighed. It was a sentiment he’d echoed thousands of times. “I wish we could have a few of our own.” 

“I would’ve loved them,” Nicky agreed, kissing Joe on the head once more. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Joe sighed. “I always will be.”

* * *

Five months later, Booker and Quynh come blazing back into their lives.

As the dust settles, after apologies are given and accepted Booker pulls Joe off to the side.

“I hope I’m not crossing a line,” he says as he pulls a sketchbook out of his pocket, “but I  _ was  _ a forger and I wanted to make sure you had a new copy.”

He holds out a perfect copy of Joe’s sketch of his family- plus a few details. 

Saffiya has Joe’s eyes, and Joe’s rambunctious smile sits prominently on Alek’s face. Even Aylya sits beautifully on the page, her strong brow and dimpled chin as gentle and sweet as Joe remembers.

Joe collapses to his knees with a sob, so greatful and sad all at once. Nicky rushes in, with Andy and Quynh and Nile on his heels. 

Joe drags booker into a long hug, and then turns to his family. 

“Let me tell you a story,” he says to the girls, “let me tell you about my family, so you might help me remember them.” 

And in another thousand years, Joe can still recite every detail of his family clearly, and can still pass down the memories for safekeeping, until he needs them once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am, as always, on tumblr. www.flamingbluepanda.tumblr.com
> 
> im going tf to bed

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [watchdabirdie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchdabirdie/pseuds/watchdabirdie) Log in to view. 




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